Chapter Text
White hands set down a handheld video recorder upon a cleared space on a table. The feed flickered and snowed over from the light impact, eventually correcting. The hands slipped back to their owner, a woman with a body of white and black and a round, comely face, a black cap atop dark hair cut short. She fussed with her bangs for a moment before standing straight in front of the recorder, saluting.
“EULR-V1424, beginning observation log! Time is, uh.” She squinted at something on the wall behind the recorder. “Fourteen-forty-seven. Good afternoon!”
The Eule stepped to the side, revealing a black coffin-like object within the center of a white room. Medical equipment lined every wall and counter, fluorescent tubes behind plastic providing sterile light from above. She set a hand down atop the object, running her fingers over blemishes on its surface.
“We’ve got another rescued stasis pod here. Real beat up; wherever they found it, it’s seen a lot before now. Again, no obvious markings aside from all the scratches and deeper grooves, and obviously all the bits of shell from removed barnacles. Completely black, no obvious interface or connection points. Lock-bolts as big as my forearm at each corner. No-one’s getting in or out of this without–”
Someone in the corner of the room, just outside of the video’s frame, cleared their throat. The Eule’s head shot up, broken from her narration.
“Right! Sorry! We’ve also got our good Doktor with us.”
She ran over to the recorder, picking it up and pointing it to a thin woman previously out of view, sitting slouched forward on the edge of a seat. A long white coat was worn over a black turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and black shoes. Thin-framed glasses graced a distinguished nose, with three stars upon a pale forehead.
“Doktor Irina Song, Replika technician, here on behalf of AEON to observe this reactivation and assist as needed.” A touch of gravel gave her voice an extra measure of maturity and authority.
“And we’re happy to have you, Doktor!” By contrast, the Eule’s voice was clear and exuberant.
A touch of color found its way to her deathly pale cheeks as she brushed a lock of stringy black hair behind her ear. “Alright, my presence is sufficiently noted for the record. You can put the camera down now, Lette.”
“Oh, of course!” The recorder was set back down precisely where it was before, down to the degree. “Well, let’s crack this pod open. I’m sure whoever’s inside will appreciate a good stretch.”
“Mm. Proceed.”
Beside the camera was a clipboard and a collection of printed sheets, which Lette idly flipped through. “Alright, here’s the instructions on how to open this type of pod the hard way, provided by our good Doktor here upon her arrival. Let’s get right to it–”
<< FOOTAGE CUT FOR TIME >>
“–and that should hopefully be it,” said the Eule, voice strained with frustration. Cables ran from out of frame to the pod, attached to previously unseen, now opened panels. Small diodes lit up, blinking.
Lette set the clipboard back beside the video recorder, taking a drink from a water bottle as she watched Dr. Song typing on a keyboard connected to a newly exposed monitor. “Doktor, I’m sure these instructions make perfect sense to you, but they’re a little much for me!”
“Mm. I just needed an extra pair of hands.”
“Well, one of you two could’ve helped!”
The Eule gestured to the other side of the room, off-frame. The sound of worn equipment rubbing against plastic is barely audible.
“Sorry, babe; our job isn’t to tinker.”
“Besides,” an identical second voice cut in, “you’re cute when you’re out of your element.”
The Eule’s face turned several shades redder, to her visible frustration and to the two voices’ amusement.
“Enough talking.” Song finally glanced up from her work. “Tighten up, it’s about to open.”
“You heard the boss, piglet. Tighten up.”
The red of the Eule’s face turned deeper. “Now you see here–”
A seal along the top of the coffin cracked, a loud hiss making the Eule jump back with a yelp. Lock-bolts powered by unseen hydraulics turned, extending out at each corner. The top slowly opened on its own, the air inside turning to mist and sinking to the floor.
“It really opened,” Lette gasped. Another clearing of the throat put her back on task. She peered over the edge into what was inside, waving a hand over the newly-made cloud.
“I can’t quite see what’s inside. Do you think we could–”
Before she could say another word, a black hand shot out from beneath the mist, took hold of her wrist. She shrieked as a shape lunged out at her.
<< GRAPHIC IMAGERY REMOVED >>
“There, there, get it all out,” Lette cooed as she patted the shape’s back with one hand, holding its long damp black hair back with the other. Doktor Song crouched beside them, examining a puddle of grey liquid on the floor.
“What is that crud,” asked one of the voices out of frame.
“Expired stasis fluid. Must’ve gotten out after the pod’s internals failed, flooded the whole thing. You’re lucky, you know that? Marinade in that, your biocomps would’ve completely deteriorated.”
The shape’s black hands clutched the edge of the pod, upper body hung over it. It raised its head, still coughing between dry heaves. Sharp feminine facial features, a black line bisecting a long face. Blue eyes with a faint red dot of light behind the pupil.
A Replika.
Lette walked around the side of the video recorder, returning with a bottle and a wrapped calorie block perched atop a clipboard full of haphazardly stacked paper. “Here, have some water.”
The Replika took hold of it with a weak grip, raising the nozzle and drinking deeply. She only ever stopped to breathe before bringing the bottle back up. Long black hair stick to her shell and face, sudden with stasis fluid. A light mist surrounded her as it sublimated.
Lette watched the Replika drain the water from the bottle in seconds. She removed the packaging from the block and offered it to the Replika, who already had it half-finished in one bite. “Subject is active, and starving. Don’t worry, we’ll get you taken care of in a minute. Just a few formalities first.”
The Replika nodded, still working away at the ration.
The Eule adjusted her cap, fixed her hair, and turned to the relevant pages on the board. She ignored a whistle from one of the other witnesses in the scene. “Could you please identify yourself? It’s for the record, you see,” she says as she gestures to the recorder.
The Replika turned, regarding the device, first confused and then curious. Then, she looked over the room, eyebrows furrowing.
“Where am I,” the Replika asked, throat still rough from the recent purging of foreign matter from her internals. When she looked in the direction of the two voices, she froze and tensed.
“We’ll enlighten you in a moment,” said Doktor Song. “Now, answer the questions. Facing the camera, please.”
The Replika turned to look at the technician for the first time, only looking more confused. As she looked over the Gestalt, her eyes trailed down to the floor, and noticed the cables leading to the pod.
In a breath, she darted out of the coffin, closed in on the technician and got a fistful of her coat in each hand, pushing the both of them out of the recorder’s view, followed by the clatter of instruments toppling on the counter and falling to the floor.
“How the hell did you open my casket,” she demanded. Video wasn’t needed; it was audible that she was speaking through grit teeth.
The cocking of guns and a handful of quick stomps, and the two voices came into the view of the video recorder. Equipment and bodies and armor in full black, save for their long white legs and red straps. Dark hair cut to a high bob, blue eyes with a shock of red lining them and a black face-mask covering the rest. Tall, almost reaching the ceiling.
Starlings.
Submachine guns raised, the stock pressed into their shoulders and a digit hovering over the trigger. The mystery Replika had already twisted her hold on the technician to put her body between her and the line of fire, one arm looped around Song’s neck and keeping it in the hollow of her elbow.
“Whoa, there, sleeping beauty,” said one Starling. “Don’t do anything stupid.” If it weren’t for the current moment, one might have thought she was teasing someone.
Lette held the clipboard tight to her white chestplate, caught in what would be the potential crossfire. The second gestured to her with a shake of her head, and the Eule scurried away and ducked behind her.
Doktor Song sighed, glancing at the camera. “Everyone, calm down. Lette, note your observations for the record. The camera can’t see her clearly.”
The Eule stared wide-eyed between the calm Song, the tense unit, and the Stars waiting for a reason to open fire. The grip she had on the clipboard threatened to break it. What else was one of her make to do? “R-right. Black body, red accents, no visible identifying markings, white legs–”
Her gaze stopped just past the knee.
“Extra joints? Digitigrade legs. Thighs are notably thicker.”
“That’d be where all the muscle’s kept in a Kasuar,” Doktor Song grumbled as she fished out a cigarette from a pocket.
For a moment, Lette’s professionalism took over. “Ma’am, I already told you about smoking in my ward!”
The Replika’s head rose from behind the technician’s shoulder. “Ward? Is this a hospital? And you,” she said as she tightened the hold on the technician’s neck, “you know what my series is?”
Song took her time, more interested in getting her cigarette lit and taking a quick pull. “EULR-V1424, does our subject appear healthy and present in the moment?”
Lette nodded. She was eyeing the emergency alarm on the wall. “She does, ma’am.”
“And would the Kasuar be so kind as to identify herself so that we can at least confirm that her core memory is functional?”
The Replika finally loosened her grip, stood to her full height, just a head or so taller than Lette and Song. The Stars still towered over her. “Fine. KASR-000093.”
“Beautiful,” the technician grumbled as she walked around the Replika and yanked the clipboard from the Eule’s grasp. “I’ll take care of the rest. Stars, you may stand down. 93, retrieve your equipment cache from the casket and we’ll get moving.”
Though visibly perplexed, she did as she was told, reached into the open pod and pulled out a large black box by its handle, similarly unmarked. Mist sloughed off its surface, stasis fluid reacting to the open air. Her shoulder dipped and rose back up as she adjusted for the weight. “You still haven’t explained–”
“–how I know what I know? You’ll find out soon enough. C’mon, we’re keeping the commander waiting. You can cut the camera now, Lette.”
White hands picked up the recorder, fiddling with the side of it as the lens was inches from her face. One of the Stars realized the lens was pointed in her direction, just over the Eule’s shoulder, and held up two fingers in a V. Then the video cut to black.
The blank monitor acted as a darkened mirror, the viewer’s reflection looking back at her. Another Replika, with three red stars emblazoned upon her forehead, partially obscured by long black hair. A gold wreath alighted her head, slowly turning rings floating just behind her almost regal visage. A command unit. FKLR-V1401.
With the video report concluded, she sat back in her plush executive seat, laying her hand on a thick sheaf of papers set on her mahogany desk.
Fierce blue eyes trailed up to the figures standing before her. One was her direct subordinate and support, ADLR-V1401. Always the picture of professionalism, chin held up and shoulders squared to regulation down to the hundredth of a degree. Never a single hair out of place; she knew because she tried to reprimand him on several occasions, just to see how he’d react. Every movement and word, measured. Dependable. Predictable.
Outside her office of red and gold, she could sense the good Doktor Song and the Eule assigned today to assist her, EULR-V1424, Lette, standing in the hall. While the Doktor leaned against the steel and concrete wall, Lette stood at attention. Falke could feel her anxiety all the way from here. Beside her was a large black box. Poor thing; even if her unit’s make is marginally stronger than a Gestalt of the Doktor’s build, it must be heavy for her.
Flanking the door were the two Starlings, STAR-V1408 and 12: Steyr and Breda. They were nominally acting as door guards, but their attention was wandering. One of them kept making eyes at the Eule. Perhaps she’d inform them there was a time and a place for such things, but it would deny her an opportunity to eavesdrop.
They weren’t why Falke was here.
She settled her focus on the figure beside Adler, standing at attention, hooves tapped together and arms stock-straight down her sides. The KASR unit, with her tattered and worn-down frame. Her hair, straight and raven black, curled in places, recently cleaned. Lette’s handiwork.
Though she was outwardly the very image of the stoic servant of the Nation, her internality was a stark contrast. There was no obstruction or obfuscation; her mind was entirely unguarded.
It was adorable.
“At ease,” Falke said in a long-practiced tone with the weight of authority behind it. With that, the Kasuar separated her feet to shoulder width and folded her hands behind her back. But, instead of looking straight ahead, their eyes met.
“I take it from the good Doktor’s report,” Falke said as she gave the stack of papers a quick ruffle up its side, “that you’ve been cleared for full functionality?”
“This unit has been cleared, ma’am,” said the Kasuar with a curt nod and a blunt, stern voice. “This unit must also insist on not being waylaid any longer.”
Falke didn’t have to look at Adler for his reaction; she could feel the indignance flowing out of him.
“You are addressing our Commander, unit. Nothing happens without her leave.”
“This unit is required on the field, ma’am,” the Kasuar continued. “It has been three hours since this unit has been reactivated. That is three hours of combat-readiness lost. This is an inexcusable waste, which will result in lives lost, or worse, ground ceded to the Empire should this unit be delayed any longer.”
A subtle scowl cracked across Adler’s impassive face. “Speaking back–”
“I will speak back to whoever keeps me from my function.” She addressed him directly, glaring at him now from the corner of her eye, unblinking. “Further delay will see you all court-martialed.”
The administrator unit’s widened imperceptibly at the audacity on display. He couldn’t remember any time someone spoke so brazenly to him. Nor could Falke. But as entertaining and novel it was to see one of her closest adjutants flustered, there were important matters to address.
That’s enough.
A simple instruction, a gentle suggestion. Adler gathered himself, rolled his shoulders, took a breath, smoothed a hand over his dark slicked-back hair. The Stars outside the office door finally snapped to full attention, picturesque statues.
For the Kasuar, it was as if whatever thought she was having had disappeared from her mind. Her next words fell dead on her tongue, air hitched in her throat, train of thought hopelessly derailed.
Falke propped her elbows atop the desk, weaved her fingers together, rested her chin atop them. “Identify yourself, Kasuar.”
“...KASR-000093, ma’am.” Her mind was trying to piece together what her last thought was. It was cute, watching the Kasuar flounder.
“Greetings, KASR-000093; I am FLKR-V1401. You may refer to me as Commander Falke, or simply Commander.”
The unit tried to hide it on her face, but she held naked disdain at the notion. Falke continued. “That many digits makes it a production serial. Were you never given a designation? Or a name?”
“A designation beyond that, no ma’am. My strike-team calls me Flott.”
The tip of Falke’s thumb idly ran the length of her jaw. “So, Flott. Am I to understand that you have never operated under a command unit such as myself before?”
The incredulity was sparking off of Adler, which upon hearing Flott admit, “I have not, ma’am,” nearly made him vocalize it. Oh, it’s been so long since Adler was this entertaining. Not since their first dozens of cycles together. He’s so accustomed to her at this point, it’s difficult to get a rise out of him; neither flaunting nor abusing her authority made him blink. This shakeup was a breath of fresh air.
“I see,” hummed the command unit. “And am I correct in assuming you are under the impression that we are non-military assets?”
“I am, ma’am. I thank you for retrieving my malfunctioning casket and resuscitating me, and I apologize for speaking out of turn. I’ll make note of your cooperation to my superiors when-”
Without warning, Falke picked up the stack of papers on her desk, and read it aloud.
“Complex Assignments Special-operations Replika. Initially a test-bed prototype to push the physical limits of Replika bodies while maximizing efficacy within a target form factor, the KASR was approved for limited production and field deployment to key combat theatres.”
A flash of something went across the Kasuar’s face. Her mind couldn’t hide it: anxiety, suspicion. “I was led to believe that was my wellness report.”
Falke tried with all her might to hide the smile on her face; the most she could manage was a coquettish smirk. “Hmm? All this? Of course not. This,” Falke proceeded to rip away three sheets one by one from the top, “is the entirety of the Doktor’s report. So painfully brief, isn’t she? The rest of this veritable tome,” she dropped it onto the desk for effect, “is your complete series document as well as your service record, which I must admit is a page turner. Many confirmed kills, including aircraft, vehicles, a handful of armor, even bioresonant imperial officers. You’ve done much for our Nation. And your latest mission, I wish I was there to witness it. The report goes into great detail of your charge towards gun nests–”
“With all due respect, ma’am,” the Kasuar interrupted, “don’t insult me.”
“Hmm? How so?”
The Kasuar’s jaw stiffened. “Do you actually expect me to believe you have the clearance to obtain that document?”
“Ahh, but I do,” she said with the same casual lilt as if she were enjoying a cup of tea. With that same ease, she handed the papers to Adler, who then wordlessly passed it to the Kasuar.
She nearly yanked it from the adjutant’s hands, and quickly skimmed through it, primed to call the bluff.
Recommended use and deployment: rapid-response, guerilla assault, shock and awe.
Standard equipment and weaponry: DRDN-1 “Tarn” helmet and visor, DRDN-3 “Nothung” field knife, DRDN-4 “Dämmerung” stealth suit, trained in standard military hardware including carbines, longrifles, small-arms and infantry-scale explosive ordnance.
Stabilization requirements: sound-proofed dormitory ideal, otherwise provide hearing protection. Mahjong set ideal, deck of playing cards an acceptable substitute.
Her extensive service record, from her first field deployment to her latest operation.
It’s legitimate. All of the info’s accurate.
Flott’s grip tightened, paper creasing and crinkling. How the hell did she get this?
Falke once again rested her chin atop her interlaced fingers. “Humor me, Flott. You’ve seen what the Empire’s forces are like up close; were I a bioresonant officer, how would you kill me?”
Adler’s mask cracked. “Commander, this line of questioning is far from appropriate–”
“With a longrifle from a far enough distance that you couldn’t detect it,” Flott answered without hesitation. Venom dripped from every word.
Falke couldn’t help the smile that curled her lips. “A long-distance precision kill. That’s logical. And were I holed up somewhere fortified?”
“Commander–!”
“Sneak in and rig it with demolition charges, or tag it after making visual contact and have it shelled to oblivion. Distance and lack of awareness are the keys to taking down an esoteric. There’s no telling what they can do normally, much less when they’re backed into a corner and dig their heels in.”
“Esoteric?”
“Esoteric hostile. It’s my team’s name for bioresonants.”
With finality, Falke leaned back in her seat. “Hmm! Thank you for humoring me, Flott. This was enlightening.”
The KASR unit tucked the papers under her forearm, face screwed up with visible agitation. Falke could feel it, her mind reduced into a whorl of frustration, suspicion, and impatience. “Falke,” oh how Adler hated that familiarity, “I cannot be delayed any longer. I must reconnect with my team. If you won’t assist me, then I’ll be notifying my superiors of this insubordination, as well as accessing classified documents.”
Falke idly tapped a finger to her chin. “Oh no, we can’t have that; I’m in enough trouble already. I’ll assist you as best I can. But, have you not tried your radio? Surely there are bands only a military unit such as you are aware of.”
The tension in Flott’s voice was delectable. “I’ve tried. All I get is interference.”
“Have you attempted a call, or a coded response?”
The Kasuar scoffed. “And expose myself and my location? Of course not. That’s a security risk.”
“Well, then,” Falke said with almost sarcastic gravitas, “allow me to remedy this.”
The command unit slowly stood from her desk, rising to her full imposing height. It took only two strides for Falke to step out from behind her desk and approach the Kasuar. Flott couldn’t not gawk at how Falke towered over her.
As Adler took his place at his commander’s side, Falke smiled down at her guest.
“Come along, lost cassowary. I’ll help you contact your flock.”
Walking through the facility, the Kasuar did her best to keep to herself, stay on alert, following the “commander” alongside the Replika technician, the medical unit, and the two combat units. Her only interaction was taking back her cache case from Lette; the way she struggled with its weight made her feel guilty. She had a spare hand, the other holding her documents.
They wound through the labyrinthine halls, progressing up and up and up. The one in the lead, Falke, could easily walk faster with the length of her gait, yet she slowed herself to keep everyone together.
How did they know which way they were going? There were no signs anywhere for which areas were where, and almost every turn surprised her. The only indication of what this place might be were the security checkpoints.
Everyone they passed was another Replika; each one stopped whatever they were doing to salute Falke as they passed, making way. During this impromptu parade, Flott’s mind raced.
It all started with that medical room. That Replika technician was out of uniform, and had to practically bruteforce her stasis pod open. And the diagnostics afterwards! Flott was no stranger to long and drawn-out tests, but that woman was done in a handful of hours. She didn’t even have the tools for a proper calibration!
Then there was this so-called command unit. She could feel a light pressure in her office, like a summer storm was going to roll by within the hour, but her sensors didn’t detect anything that could cause it. And the way Falke affected her; did she have an electronic warfare suite she wasn’t aware of? One that bypassed her defenses? Were those rings the transmitter?
And throughout all of this, there were all the units whose designs Flott didn’t recognize. It was easy enough to suss out the support and civic units, the builders and fixers, as well as those white and black medical units like Lette, but what perplexed her were the combat units. Built as tall as they were, they couldn’t possibly be deployed to the field; they’d take too much space in the trenches and bunkers, and they’d be shot to hell the moment they stood up. And there were even taller ones than the ones escorting her.
Their kit was all wrong, too. Pistols and submachine guns, small caliber arms that had little hope of landing a killing shot on armored hostiles, let alone anything at range. A few of them had shotguns, stun batons, and riot shields made of hardened polyethylene– plastic! They’d be lucky to take one proper rifle burst before shattering. They were equipped for policing and security, not war.
The Kasuar glanced back at the two combat units, following a short distance behind. One of them winked as soon as their eyes met. When the advance wasn’t reciprocated, her cheekbones shifted as she smiled under the mask, rolling her eyes.
Civilian security. That’s the only explanation for how laid back these combat units are.
How did she end up so far away from the frontlines? How much time did she lose in transit? Days? Weeks? Where even is this place?
The trip up the cargo elevator was agonizing. The command unit was speaking to the Replika technician about something, but Flott could care less. Straight up above her at the top of the shaft, she could see blue sky with a tinge of orange and pink to one side. Sundown on Vineta. At least she was on the right planet.
She cycled through her log of radio channels relentlessly, trying to hear anything except white noise. She lost count of how many times she cycled through her radio bands, even scrubbing the full range for good measure. Her radio module should have enough strength to pick something up with a vew of open sky. Was there some sort of atmospheric jamming? Was it malfunctioning?
There was a noise as they got closer to the top, louder and louder until it was deafening. Not far from the elevator was a helicopter, blades spinning and ready for take off. Falke and Song broke away while the rest waited, continuing whatever conversation they had going.
The racket of the landing made Flott’s head pound. The hand holding the documents covered one ear, but it wasn’t enough. Damn it, it’s too loud, she needed more. She needed her helmet. She had it with her, it was in her cache case, it’s part of her standard equipment. She didn’t dare open it here, not somewhere that wasn’t secure, and certainly not around civilians. Her team would never let her hear the end of it if she lost something again.
She was regretting that decision every passing second. The pain was right behind her eyes now, everything going hazy. Damn it, just leave already. What could they possibly still be talking about?
It didn’t take long for her to reach her breaking point. This much noise was too much for her system, pins being pushed into her skull by jackhammers. She broke from the group, briskly walking to the opposite side of the landing. Someone was yelling at her. Probably those combat units. Let them try and stop her.
Once she was far enough, she dropped her case to the metal floor and sat on it, closing her eyes shut and covering both ears. Sensory systems overload. She just needed a moment to recalibrate, center herself, alone. If someone tried to approach her like this, she was about to make it their problem.
Flott opened her eyes slowly, once the aching started fading. Down at her feet, metal, painted boundaries for pilots in the air to easily see where to land their aircraft. She took her time raising her head, too fast and she’d get dizzy–
Water.
The more she looked, the more water there was. Nothing but blue as far as she could see; how did she end up at the ocean?!
Her eyes followed the horizon, and–
Oh.
There were buildings rising out of the water. High-rises and skyscrapers. Some of them had sections blown out of them, some fallen and toppled over, leaning on surviving buildings. Great holes were blown out of a few of them.
That was her destination. Where she ought to be. She knew it from what little of its skyline remained intact. But the water level was too high, far too high. Most of the city was underwater; her rendezvous was guaranteed to be submerged.
Then she saw the artillery cannons beside the city– no, the perspective was off, she was just above water level. They were past the city, but just as large, with more in sequence behind it disappearing behind the horizon. How massive were they?
She followed the raised barrels, and felt her oxidant run cold.
The moon. It was completely shattered, chunks of it spread across its orbit. There wasn’t enough of it up there.
By now, the helicopter had taken off, left the platform of whatever this place was. She tried the radio again. One more passthrough.
White noise. Almost every frequency she knew was white noise. When she finally stopped trying, she landed on a frequency halfway between a looping broadcast of National proclamations and a station playing classical music.
There wasn’t interference. There wasn’t anything. The bands were empty.
Over the static and the speeches and the orchestra, she could hear the sound of ocean waves crashing against metal struts and platforms. Of light footsteps approaching her.
The command unit. Falke.
“Have you contacted your flock?”
Flott’s hands fell from her ears, limp. “What is this? What’s happening?”
Falke took a breath, looked out to the flooded city. “Tell me, Flott. What is the last thing you remember?”
The last thing she could remember. It was only yesterday, wasn’t it? She was charging the gun nests after the artillery–
// WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. //
// REMOTE MEMORY BANK ACCESS. //
// ESOTERIC ASSAULT DETECTED. //
// ESOTERIC ASSAULT DETECTED. //
// DISENGAGE. DISENGAGE. DISENGAGE. //
Neurochemicals flooded her system, body quickened. A hard kick against the ground sent the Kasuar flying as she sprang away from her assailant, just beside her.
The strange place, the strange units, the documents, the ocean, the city, the artillery, the moon. You knew something was wrong, but you just kept playing along. And when you realized it, you let yourself get caught in a perception trap. It’s the perfect esoteric MO.
Stupid Flott! Stupid, stupid! How could you let yourself get caught out by an esoteric so easily? If you survive this, Gewieft might decommission you herself!
Focus. Blade, Hero, Nothung. Focus!
Current equipment? No helmet, no suit, no armor plates, no knife, it’s all on the case you just jumped away from, you idiot. No, no, there was no time to open it.
The two combat units were raising their firearms. Get a gun from one of them. Keep moving. They won’t be able to hit you.
No, focus! Get eyes on the esoteric, and get away from them! Don’t let them get close, don’t let them touch you, don’t let them see you, don’t get caught again. It’s hard to see past all of the paper flying through the air like migratory birds. Of course that’s how they got that document, it’s a figment pulled from your head.
It has to be that “technician”; she was present throughout this whole farce. Damn it. Damn it! You knew there was something off about her!
Flott landed hard against the platform, the steel echoing and vibrating with the impact, skidding, screeching to a stop as she came to a low crouch. Targeting systems painted the esoteric; rudimentary without her helmet, but it was enough. It was–
…the command unit? She looked just as surprised as herself. And disoriented? Gait wide, like she caught herself from falling.
False positive. A Replika can’t be bioresonant. It’s a theory, a pipe dream, that’s how the technician got the idea. Still stuck in the trap. Quick. The trick the captain taught you.
The Kasuar could feel the steel beneath her, the flagging warmth of the setting sun, the salty smell of the sea, hear its waves crashing into the struts far below, feel the wind in her long hair down her back. She could see Falke.
Flush the sensory systems. Focus on the new input. Esoterics can trick your eyes and your mind. Ground yourself.
Flush.
Steel. Sun. Sea. Waves. Wind.
Still the same scene.
Flush.
Steel. Sun. Sea. Waves. Wind.
The command unit shook off whatever came over her, took a step forward. Targeting blared; esoteric approaching. A moment of panic, honed instantly into resolve. False positive or not, she couldn’t take any chances. Flott rolled her weight forward, digging talons into metal, preparing for a full sprint. Her best chance was to attack first, attack fast–
Calm down .
The coiled tension in her legs and core released all at once, falling on her knees as plastic met steel. The adrenaline drained away, oxidant pump plummeting to a resting rate. That pressure again. The esoteric must be doing something, but it wasn’t tripping any acausal flags in her defenses. Damn it, Flott, get up!
Flush.
Steel. Sun. Sea. Waves. Wind.
Falke.
I can’t move.
Why can’t I move.
The command unit gracefully knelt in front of her. The dusk sun behind her cast a warm glow to her silhouette. Her gold laurel sparkled like the distant sea, sharp blue eyes cutting through to her essence. She could feel a great weight in that gaze.
Distant clicks pulled Flott’s attention away. The combat units on the platform were lowering their firearms, reengaging safeties. Sunlight reflected out of their shells as well, her whole vision filled with the glare of polished polyethylene. When did they receive the order to stand down? Who issued it? It wasn’t that male unit, he’s just standing quietly at the cargo elevator’s console, there wasn’t a radio burst–
“Flott.”
The command unit’s voice pulled her back. She was speaking so softly, mingling with the ocean. If there was a storm, her words would be lost to the wind.
“There is a question you want to ask.”
There was. It was on the fringes of her mind, pushed away in her pursuit of her function. One by one, evidence piled up, pointing to a single conclusion. She was in the right place, but it was still wrong. The question was–
“Three decades.”
Being punched square in the nose would’ve been kinder. Flott’s entire body lurched just the same. “Three…”
“You’ve been asleep for thirty years.”
What strength was left in Flott’s legs disappeared as she fell to sit, hands resting on her knees.
Falke went on. “In that time, our Nation wrested control of Vineta from the Empire. Though, the results are as you see.” She swept her hand over the dusk-tinted ocean, the remnants of the moon. “Atomics were brought to bear. The moon was sundered, setting the seas loose. The Empire flooded the world as a parting gift.”
Atomic weaponry?
That isn’t right. She’s lying.
I’m not.
No, no, you have to be. This is a trap, I’m stuck in some ontologic maze, the captain talked about this. Thirty years?! Can the pods even last that long? Wouldn’t we have been picked up–
You couldn’t be reached. Radiation, floodwaters, fallen buildings.
And you expect me to believe we were just left there? You damned esoteric, where are you?
Right here.
Behind the golden rings rose a black cube with a handle on its top. Flott’s cache case. No-one was holding it. It was floating.
Targeting pinged the case. Acausal activity detected. Evidence logged.
The command unit placed a hand on it, guiding it to her side as it soundlessly set down beside the two of them, just past the corner of Flott’s eye.
Targeting updated. Esoteric located.
An amber outline was painted over Falke’s silhouette.
Refresh targeting. Outline re-painted. Positive ID.
It was her.
An esoteric Replika, with finer control of her bioresonance than any imperial officer she had ever encountered.
That’s not possible.
Mechanisms on the top of the case were moving on their own. It was opening itself up, security pins releasing. It was as if the command unit willed it open.
She reached her hand into the case.
“O, lost cassowary.”
Falke’s voice was like a siren’s song, threatening to pull the Kasuar towards open water and drown her. Stay focused, stay grounded. But on what?
There was something in Falke’s hands. What’d she get out of the case? She couldn’t see, she could only stare straight ahead.
Dark hands moved to the side of her head. Something was pressing into her ear canal.
She must have fetched the field knife.
So, this is how it happens, then. Paralyzed and helpless. Stampfen would get such a laugh out of this. Captain would be so disappointed. It’s a blessing they’re not here to witness this embarrassment of their series, and a curse that she can’t send a warning to them.
But then, nothing happened. Another pressing into the opposite ear. She couldn’t hear the ocean any more.
Falke’s palms gently cupped the Kasuar’s cheeks. Her lips turned up subtly.
There you are.
The Kasuar flinched. That voice was–
– mine.
With a gasp, the Kasuar tumbled backward, throwing a hand behind her to catch herself. She moved. She could move now. Her other hand shot straight to the side of her head, something was pushed into her ear, get it out, get it out.
Something soft and squishy pinched between her fingers, shaped like a bullet slug. It was familiar.
A pair of her disposable ear plugs.
Flush.
Steel. Sun. Sea. Waves. Wind.
Falke.
Feeling better?
…Yeah. Yeah, I am.
Good.
You’re really a–
– bioresonant Replika? I am.
It’s really been thirty years?
It has.
Is this real?
What does your reality tell you?
…Then, what’s going on? Why am I here?
Falke’s hand took hold of the Kasuar’s. Could artificial hands be soft?
You’re here because we have successfully rescued one of AEON’s lost flock. Welcome to Verrholdt Penitentiary.
Lette walked down the clean white halls of the facility’s dormitory layers in its central strut, attention split between following the directions on her mapping module and humming a song to herself. It was from an old opera she and the rest of the Eules had been listening to lately. It evoked a grand heroic charge, the sort of song that allowed the orchestra to fill the entire hall with its inspiring presence when it was performed.
In her white hands was a small care package to welcome the new unit to the facility. She had heard of this gesture referred to as a housewarming gift. Close enough, she supposed; dormwarming gift didn’t flow off the tongue.
The Eule closed her eyes as she reached one of her favorite movements in the song, not able to help but sing it acapella. It’s fine, I know where I’m going, she thought. Even with my eyes closed, I can still see the map updating. No-one directly in my way, just off to the side.
Yet, Lette’s stride still struck something, sending her careening forward and fighting to keep her legs underneath her. The care package, inches from hitting the concrete floor, was caught by the very tips of her fingers just in time.
“Watch where you’re going, Eule,” said a voice in a dangerous baritone. Lette wheeled around, eyes like saucers as she saw what tripped her: the extended white legs of a reclining Storch, taking advantage of the spacious hallway to stretch her legs. With her body armor and not much else, she must be off-duty or on break. That didn’t stop her from leaning forward to sneer.
“Get going, before I make my overtime your problem.”
That’s all it took for Lette to clutch the package to her chestplate, turn on her hoof and briskly scurry around the corner. No more daydreaming, no more delaying. Straight to her stop!
At this pace, it didn’t take long at all to reach the door Lette was looking for. She approached it, waited for the near-area sensor to validate her credentials. The control console beside the frame blipped green, and the door slid open on its own with a soft hiss.
Beyond was a room with a lengthy history. At first, it was a small office, when Verrholdt was only this single central strut. When more struts were constructed and connected to the facility, this whole level became dedicated to living space for Replika personnel and a selection of officers. Thus, this office became a closet for miscellaneous storage, its contents never the same for longer than a period or so. Today, it was hastily repurposed into a single domicile.
Though, “domicile” is a generous description of the space. With how recent and high-priority the work-order was, it was only slightly better than a Gestalt’s prison cell. What pushed it over to being an acceptable living space were the table and a coffee machine, a mainstay throughout the room’s history. No-one had the heart to remove a perfectly good coffee machine.
Leaning against a metal table that was almost certainly surplus intended for interrogation rooms was the new unit, idly reading a thick manual in her hands. At the opening of the door, she looked up in surprise. “O-oh! Hello.”
The Eule smiled and waved, helping herself in and promptly saluting. “Evening, comrade! EULR-V1424, at your service. Glory to the Revolution!”
With her expectant gaze, Flott gave an awkward smile. “Right, glory to the revolution. You’re that unit that took care of me as I was waking up, right?”
“That was me! You can call me Lette, though; feels like I’ve gotten into trouble whenever someone uses the full designation. How about you? It’s rude not to introduce yourself,” she said with an animated pout.
The Kasuar put away the manual hurriedly, even pushing off of the table to stand properly. “Oh, sorry. KASR-000093, Flott.”
Appeased, Lette trotted up, holding the care package out. “It was my pleasure to be of assistance, miss Flott. Here. It’s a gift as a new member of our facility. Some essentials!”
Flott blinked at the small box. “A gift?”
“Mm-hmm! Go on, open it!”
Flott gingerly accepted it, set it atop the table and took off the lid. Lette practically skipped to her side to watch. Inside were two more books to add to her collection, one thick and one thin, a water bottle, a ration block with a differently colored wrapper, a black uniform cap with three stars, and a small red loop.
“More books to read, huh,” Flott said as she helped herself to the food and drink. The ration she had when she woke up tasted like fish; this one had more of a savory flavor to its synthetic chemical seasoning.
Lette watched as the meal disappeared almost as quickly as it was unwrapped. She’d never seen anyone house a whole ration block in three bites. The sound of the water bottle’s cap screwing off brought her back to task. “Actually, only the big one’s for you to read; the other one’s blank!”
The Kasuar’s brow quirked. “Why would I need a blank book?”
A question the Eule never expected. “D-... do units of your series not need a diary?”
“I never did. I never saw my team keep a diary either.”
“Well, keep it! It helps a lot when things get stressful.”
Flott flipped through the blank pages as if it were a foreign curiosity. What would she even write about in this?
The pause gave Lette a chance to jump back in. “Anyways, the big book you already have is for daily expectations and behavior in most AEON facilities, really important you read that. Whoever prepared the room probably thought you’d need it. The new one, that’s for general operations and standards within this facility. Super important to read that one too, or you’ll keep getting into trouble with the Protektors.”
“Protektors?”
“Oh, you know, our security. Makes sure everyone is a model representative of our Nation, and they keep the inmates in line. Enough of that, though; we’ve got some important stuff to do!”
Before Flott could ask, Lette snatched the loop from the box, turning it between her fingers. “Now, miss Flott, you are a pretty old model, so you’re not compatible with a lot of the hardware we keep on-site. Most importantly, we can’t install a mapping module with the rest of your gear. You don’t have the space for it!”
The Kasuar shrugged, taking back her place leaning against the table. “I don’t see how that’s a problem. You can just flash-copy some captures of the facilities maps to me; I can handle it from there.”
Lette gave her the patented forced smile a Eule makes when they’re trying to be nice. “Sure, you’d have the maps, but our facility does something different with the mapping modules; it’s on page two-hundred and forty-seven in the manual, by the way. The short of it is, they also contain our credentials, where we are and aren’t allowed to be in the facility. Without one of those, you can’t get anywhere, and we aren’t supposed to hold the door open for anybody. Big no-no.”
Lette set the loop flat on her palms and held it out for display. “So, for you, a wearable module that we can load some provisional permissions onto! Here, put it on and I’ll get it set up.”
The Kasuar picked up the wearable module and gave a quick thank-you, threading her hand through the loop, to which Lette clapped her hands together. “Sorry! It’s not an armband, it’s a collar.”
Flott froze, eyelids fluttering. “A collar?”
Lette did her best to look apologetic, even angling her waist to tilt herself to the side. “So sorry! It’s a holdover from when we were refreshing credentials on a per-period basis, before it was refined into our current system. Personnel who neglected to get them updated in time had to wear this provisional module for their work shift. It was really embarrassing, so everyone got with the program really quickly.”
Flott sighed, fingers running over the loop until she found the clasp, undoing it and bringing it to her neck, blinding poking around the back until she finally got the loop closed. “Nothing to be done about it, I suppose.”
“Don’t worry, we don’t tease each other about it too harshly any more. Mostly. Alright, let me get this ready for you.”
It took about two minutes of fiddling, odd beeps and boops coming from the collar. Flott let a bit of her frustration show on her face. A collar, really! She was going to look ridiculous.
Her eyes lazily looked from one end of the room to the next as she waited for Lette to finish. A few times, she'd look at her. Flott had to admit, her soft and round face was cute. A little more than cute. Really long eyelashes. When Lette caught her looking and said, “Just a little longer,” Flott immediately found the far wall deeply interesting.
“Aaand there! You're good to go! I will say, I flashed my credentials onto it, so technically you could go into the general areas as well as the staff side of the medical level. Please don't, okay? This is just temporary until we get you properly inducted. Your credentials will depend on your work shift.”
Smoothing her hand over her neck, Flott grimaced slightly. “No problem; I won't be a bother.”
“Oh, no, wait, one more thing!”
The small unit darted back to the box, snatching out the last item inside it: the uniform cap. With a quick gesture to bend down and Flott obliging, she set the cap on the Kasuar’s head, hummed each time she moved it by millimeters, until eventually she was satisfied.
Lette stepped back, looked over her handiwork, and grinned from ear to ear. “Honestly, it all looks good on you. Adds a bit of something to that gallant face of yours!”
Oxidant flushed across Flott’s face. No-one’s ever called her anything like ‘gallant’ before. “Really? I'm not used to wearing anything like these.”
Lette stepped back a bit further, extended a finger and thumb on each hand, and drew a box in the air, with the Kasuar in its center.
“What’re you doing? No, wait–”
Too late. With a wink, her picture was taken.
“There! A little something to remember your first day bt.”
Flott could feel how hot her face was.
Smiling more genuinely now, Lette skipped over to the folding cot and stood atop the mattress on her knees. “Come, come, have a seat! Next step is to send the map data to you.”
The Kasuar’s heavier frame settled onto the edge, cheeks now a deep red. What did she look like when the picture was taken? Why is she worried about that?
Say something, calm down. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do this at the table?”
“Maybe, but this transfer might take a bit, so I want to get comfortable. Now if you’d please open your data port for me?”
The process of flashing over the maps to Flott’s memory banks was largely automatic. While Lette waited for that to finish, she busied herself with physically assessing the unit in front of her.
A Replika’s shell tells a unique story. As a member of medical staff and a nurse, Lette must keep herself clean and maintain a sterilized workspace. As a consequence of this work ethic, she may as well have come out of fabrication this morning, with a pristine exterior that has seen little wear and tear. What few scratches and scuffs her work would cause her were easily repaired and covered up. The whites and blacks of her shell are as bright and dark as they can be: a picturesque and ideal Eule that was fit for posters, she liked to think.
There were the work units, such as the facility’s Aras, who see a great deal of physical toil on a daily basis, and there are the security units, such as the Storch and Starling Protektors. These units sometimes become a patchwork of replaced parts. Some maintain certain blemishes on their shell as a mark of pride, to show their commitment to their role.
Lette had never seen a unit that was deployed to a battlefield. Compared to the worst state she’d seen a Protektor in, the Kasuar’s shell was an absolute wreck. Not a single part of it had an ounce of luster, the light of the small room absorbed by the clouded blacks and whites and reds.
Dents, gashes and gouges dotted across its surface, near-misses and direct hits from gunfire and impacts. There was a cut on her neck just under her new collar, which would’ve surely opened an artery if she were a Gestalt. It was difficult to find a completely clean square foot that didn’t have some manner of spot-weld to mend a crack or fill a hole. Her abdomen had an especially nasty crack that reached the chestplate, with the telltale signs of numerous repairs to both close the gap and reinforce it. She could still see staple marks along the line.
What was free of signs of repair, however, was her back. It only sported dulling from abrasion, and was otherwise the one piece of untouched hardware she had, as far as Lette could tell.
But, all things considered, Flott was well-maintained. Some of the repairs are ugly, but all remaining damage was largely cosmetic. The story that the Kasuar’s shell told? Diligence and bravery in the face of adversity, and a refusal to back down.
The Eule sat on her knees, twirling the data cord around a finger. Her other hand silently trailed over the Kasuar’s worn-down exterior, gingerly running over old scars and keeping herself preoccupied.
But by the Revolutionary, this transfer was taking longer than it ought to. Did miss Flott’s hardware have a bottleneck somewhere in her data throughput?
The Kasuar, who had been silent and still this whole time, turned her head. “Sorry about this. I guess my kit’s more outdated than I thought.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry! It’s my fault for bringing the uncompressed captures. I didn’t even think to consider a hardware difference.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sorry just the same.”
Before allowing the oppressive silence to consume them again, Lette spoke up. “How are you feeling? You had a pretty nasty wake-up, and that spell you had on the upper deck.”
“That? I’m… I’m fine. It was just sensory overload.”
“Does it happen often for your series?”
“We can manage it. We’ve got high-spec bodies, so our nervous systems are similarly upgraded so we can keep up with ourselves. More responsive, more sensitive. But, we pay for it every day in little ways.”
Lette suddenly dropped her voice to a whisper. “I wasn’t too loud when I introduced myself, was I?”
“Hah. No, you’re fine, Lette. It’s just especially loud sounds and bright lights that hit us hard. I thought my head was going to rip open with that helicopter.”
“Well, do you need me to requisition some ear protection for you? That’s within my authority!”
Flott chewed on the idea. She had plenty of ear plugs still, but, if they’re really thirty years old…
“Yeah. Yeah, you can do that.”
Lette was beaming from that. Flott couldn’t look right at her, lest she be blinded. “Wonderful! I’ll do that as soon as I have a chance! Since it’s going to be a while, won’t you tell me about some of these marks on your shell? You must have so many stories to tell!”
Flott chuckled at the Eule’s curiosity. “Not that many; I’m the newest unit of my team. But, you’re really interested in that?”
“Mmhmm! Please? You’re well before my time. What was it like back then?”
Back then. The words made something in Flott’s chest pinch. “Alright. You see this scar on my bicep, and here on my thigh? I got those at the same time.”
She ran across a wasteland of dirt and clay, upturned and pockmarked with craters from artillery fire. Their flash and thunder turned silent; a window of opportunity opened for her.
The no-man’s-land seemed to stretch on forever. The smoke and fog cut visibility to a handful of meters around her. Her helmet dampened the high-end light and sound, its mask saved her from the smell. Her legs carried her as fast as they could across the blasted landscape towards her objective: an enemy encampment, once protected by the mortar fire. The encampment in its generosity obliged her with a guiding light: tracer-fire from heavy machine guns.
No cover to hide behind, no trenches to dive into; all she could do was keep moving. She turned hard, digging her feet deep into the ruined earth and springing out of the line of fire, before being forced to twist and jump again as the gunners adjusted, swept back and forth.
But the closer she got, the narrower the margin for error became. Less time to adjust, to dodge. One of the guns caught her mid-air, bullets cutting across an arm and leg. The bicep was gouged, tunnels excavated through the muscle. She was close enough that her sensory systems could hear someone cheering as they landed their shots.
Those same systems fed her a quick diagnostic report.
Projected efficacy loss: fifteen percent.
She landed on her feet, adjusted her gait, and broke into a dead sprint. Specks of red trailed behind her in the dirt. She grit her teeth tight, polynamel creaking. Pain was for later. Focus. Do what the captain taught you.
I am the Nation’s Blade.
I am the Sword of the Hero.
I am Nothung.
Twenty paces out. She could now hear panic in the gun emplacements. Kill it, they screamed, before it gets inside.
Ten paces out. Her surviving arm crossed her chest, gripped the sheathed knife on her shoulder. She could see the gunner’s eyes inside the concrete bunker.
Five paces out. The gunner wrenched the machine gun as hard as they could with their body weight, the barrel and sight zeroing towards her. The knife flew, found a new home in their neck. As their body lurched, the machine gun’s barrel rose by scant degrees, and rang out. Bullets went wide, above her head by inches.
Contact. She dove into the bunker, coming face to face with the gunner as they fell to the ground grasping their neck. There’s another in the gun nest: a spotter, scrambling for their rifle. The pistol holstered to her thigh was drawn in a blink of an eye, stopped the spotter dead. She reclaimed her knife, left the gunner where they were. In one minute, they won’t be a problem.
She couldn’t remember wholly what followed, past the haze of adrenaline and the rush of combat. Urban combat was her domain, running and weaving, outmaneuvering and assaulting. Moments of lucidity punctuated by the click of dry magazines. Move through the mass and the buildings, procure another of their guns, turn it back at them. There was poetry in that act she’d only appreciate after.
When silence came, it arrived hand in hand with sweeping, stalking. Take your time prowling the area for survivors, stragglers, anyone fleeing the combat zone. Leave yourself open, just enough to give them confidence. Let them show themselves, think they’re getting the drop on you.
Her reflection followed her in the corner of her eye as she passed windows that were still intact. A dark crested helmet with a beak-like mask fully enclosing the head, red lenses where the eyes were. A bodysuit covered in straps, harnesses, holsters and armor plates. Yet with all of this gear on, she moved as soundless as the wind.
A predatory bird circling a killing field.
Something moved behind the glass. She moved faster. Bang, bang. A body fell.
When there was no-one left to take the bait, she turned her radio to a specific frequency, activated the encryptor.
>> 93 reporting. Allclear.
Soldiers riding vehicles flying the colors of black, red and yellow drove through the silent checkpoint. Bodies of fallen combatants laid in the dirt, slumped against walls and doorways, still clutching their rifles. Among them, one leaned against a wrecked vehicle, holding their hastily field-dressed arm and keeping weight off of a bandaged leg. A bright red stain soaked through the cloth, too bright to be blood. Oxidant.
She paid the soldiers no mind as they passed, idly watching through her mask’s optic sensors as the column drove past. Her work was done; they could get back to theirs now.
A ping on her radio. Strike-team’s frequency.
“Report.”
A familiar voice. Like hers, yet unmistakably not.
She straightened her back for a superior she couldn’t see, nor could they see her. “Imperials in this checkpoint have been silenced, captain. Column’s already moving up. How are things on your end?”
A bemused chuckle. “Artillery’s gone cold, hasn’t it? That should tell you enough, 93. We’re just glad you did your part.”
“Yeah,” said another, more brusque voice as it joined the radio call, “33 here thought you were going to choke. Maybe trip and fall.”
“It’s my job to worry, 84. But I trusted she could get it done. What’s your status, 93?”
A lump in her throat. Here we go. “Damage to the non-dominant arm and thigh, sustained on approach. Systems projected a twelve-percent drop in my effectiveness.”
“You still weren’t fast enough,” snickered 84.
“Her only approach was straight on, she had no choice. Nature of the damage?”
A hand absently tugged at her thigh’s field dressing. “It was a machine gun nest. Had to dodge the shots in the fog. Got tagged, but my endostructure’s still intact in both limbs. I can run, but a full sprint might make me bleed out.”
“Math doesn’t feel right, in that case. Sounds like it ought to be fifteen percent–”
“Enough, Stampfen,” 33 barked over the radio. She instinctively squared her shoulders, pulled them back into attention. “Flott, go along with the column; once we form up, we’ll return to base for repairs. The coats will get you back to one-hundred in no time.”
“On it, captain.”
“And… you did good work today.”
“Yeah. I know I give you a hard time, but that was real good work.”
A warm swell underneath her chestplate. “Thank you, Gewieft, Stampfen. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal, though; both of you have to surrender something from your meal-ration next time we eat. Your sweeteners are mine!”
KASR-000033, the captain Gewieft, grumbled with resignation.
KASR-000084, the competitive Stampfen, groaned.
KASR-000093, the cadet Flott, leaned back in silent pride. The sky above, still grey with the clouds and dust of war, was slowly clearing. Finally, they were taking her seriously. Finally, she felt like part of the team.
Red optics raked over the column. She wanted to walk the rest of the way, but on this leg, the captain might make a fuss later.
“Hey.”
Her voice was digitally distorted as it pushed through the mask’s external speakers. The soldiers closest to her turned to face her, ready to raise their rifles at the noise until they realized where it came from.
Flott was used to that reaction. Part of the shock and awe package.
Her good hand clicked a release on the mask, a quick hiss as the seams released. She left it to hang around her neck, pulling down the cloth covering the lower half of her face.
Behind dangerous red lenses, clear blue eyes.
“Just got my orders. I’ll be tagging along with you a little longer. Mind if I hitch a ride?”
The remnants of the moon hung high, bright and twinkling stars dominating the sky. The unleashed waters crashed against the reinforced sides of the main strut of Verrholdt, receding away only to crash into them again, a constant roiling.
Falke stood on the top platform. She had not moved from there since the KASR unit was ushered back into the facility, sent to her assigned quarters.
She stared unblinking at the stars. The halo of rings behind her rotated erratically around their unseen axis. The ocean gusts sent her hair in every direction; she didn’t pay it any mind.
There was another beside her. A much smaller unit with a white chestplate, bearing the same three stars upon her forehead, hair cut short to the chin whipped about by the same wind, squinting at the horizon to keep loose strands out of her eyes. A Kolibri.
What do you make of her, KLBR-V1404, said the commander, not with words but with an unseen signal.
The Kolibri responded in turn over the signal.
Of the new unit, ma’am? The choir and I have already marked her for disciplinary work shifts after she’s been entered into the system.
Belay that, Schwertleite. It isn’t her fault.
With all due respect, commander, she spoke to you as if you were her lesser–
And she had no way of knowing otherwise. How would you react if you found yourself in a strange place, not knowing how much time has passed?
We understand, ma’am, but the way she spoke to you, thought of you. We’ve agreed that we have seen enough to order any other unit decommissioned.
And you’ll do no such thing. She’s our guest during the time she’s being observed here.
Guests must still abide by the rules of the house. Commander.
The commander said nothing. Seconds stretched on.
The Kolibri’s lips pressed together to a hard line. Falke and her direct adjutants, fellow bioresonants, were better at keeping themselves in check, guarding their emotions and thoughts from others. They had to; it was a consequence of their design.
There were colors and sounds leaking out from the fringes around the commander, though, all foreign and odd. What was going through her mind?
One of Schwertleite’s sisters provides a thought; perhaps a change of tactic was called for.
Perhaps the work-shift we assign to her could be thought of as a part of her observation, commander?
Still nothing. Was she in one of her moods?
With an animated sigh, the Kolibri’s arms crossed over her armored chestplate and turned to face her superior directly. This time, the Kolibri spoke.
“We request permission to speak freely, commander.”
“Granted.”
“May we at least be enlightened as to why you wish to treat this unit differently?”
That got a reaction. A rising tide of rose pink quickly quashed down; she might have missed it if she wasn’t paying attention. Embarrassment. Why would the commander be embarrassed?
Falke brought a hand up to her chin, avoiding the Kolibri’s pointed gaze. “It’s odd; I think I feel some kinship to her.”
The Kolibri’s brow dropped, the hard line of her lips growing longer. The sight made Falke chuckle. “Yes, I know, but… tell me, Schwertleite. We are the greatest of the Nation’s achievements, are we not?”
Schwertleite took a deep breath. Where was she going with this? “For the sake of this conversation, we agree, yes.”
The command unit looked up to the sky once again. “So was she, once. A cutting-edge prototype, just as we are. Any of us would’ve made a spectacle of ourselves as she had, if we were in her place, separated by so much time.”
The Kolibri didn’t look convinced. “So, because she too was at one point the latest the Nation had to offer, you see some of yourself in her?”
“Somewhat, yes. Though, I must admit, I can’t help but see my future in her.”
The stern Kolibri tone finally broke. The interest of one of the sisters listening in was instantly piqued. “Ma’am?!”
Falke laughed. The rose pink the Kolibri had seen before was now a gentle yellow. Amusement, relief. “It’s nothing complex. Tell me, Schwertleite; do you know why we are here?”
There was the obvious answer; we’re here because we’ve been assigned to the detention and reeducation of Vinetan citizens who have shown signs and patterns of betraying the ideals of the Eusan Nation as a part of the reconstruction efforts.
Schwertleite and her fellow Kolibri knew better than to give that answer.
“We’re here because our skills are best used here.”
“And,” Falke went on, “do we complete our duty here to the best of our ability?”
The Kolibri inclined her head. “We do. Not once has anyone escaped Verrholdt, and we keep Gestalt fatalities to well below the expected average. We’ve modified the average, in fact.”
“Is that all we can do?”
Something bubbled under the surface. Sympathetic feedback poured from the commander, making her chest tighten like a spring wound too tight.
“We’re not the only cadre of Falke and accompanying Kolibri out there. Not unique, only one of many, all performing tasks and duties as is required of them. We can perform many functions, but do any of them make full use of us? Can any of us truly say we place our entire being into our work? Should we be satisfied with this?”
“Commander, our skills are best put where we are deployed. If we were expected to perform at our full capacity at all times, we would all go mad.”
“That’s true, but… Did any of you not feel it? The Kasuar’s memory of the battlefield? The grey sky, the smell of earth and gunpowder, of blood! The danger, the adrenaline, the thrill as she charged towards the Empire with nothing but a knife and a pistol. Her oxidant pounding in her ears, her muscle fibers screaming as she pushed them to their very limit, and then demanded more of them. Every part of her, used to its fullest.”
The feedback was getting worse. She could only speak between pants as she became short of breath. “Perhaps, ma’am, but–”
“And we as well can do so much more. We could be coordinating soldiers so much more efficiently than the chaos and time-lag of surface radios and interplanetary missives. Or better, we could be at the front ourselves. None could stand before the Nation’s might when it’s properly brought to bear.”
The Kolibri wavered, clutching her chest. “Commander, wait–”
“But, no. We must instead remain here, babysitting these dregs while the war is fought with words and barbs. Politicians replace soldiers. Pens replace weapons. Paper replaces battle lines. Was sitting here and wasting away in mundane labor what we were made for–”
The commander was broken out of her wordless reverie by the feeling of a small hand pressing against her side. Her gaze wheeled away from the Nation’s foe to her adjutant, leaning against her and struggling to breathe.
“Schwertleite!” Falke knelt down beside her adjutant, holding the diminutive Replika’s shoulders. She couldn’t allow herself the indulgence of feeling guilty; she let her true emotions run free, endangered her flock. Inexcusable.
“Easy, easy. Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” the Kolibri said between gulps of air, the runaway feedback finally coming back under control. “We’re fine. It’s our fault. We should’ve spoken up sooner.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, the fault lies solely with me, I should’ve noticed. What of the rest of you?”
“We’re stabilizing. Waltraute gave her assigned Protektors a scare, however.”
“Damn it…!”
The small hand found its way to Falke’s shoulder, gave a gentle but firm grip. “Commander, please. We’re fine. We’re more concerned about you.”
FLKR-V1401, overseer of Verrholdt Penitentiary, blinked. “Me?”
The Kolibri didn’t know how else to say it, so she simply said it. “With respect, ma’am, you’ve been acting differently ever since you received this latest order from AEON. More withdrawn, more distracted.”
Falke groaned as a child found lagging behind in their homework would. “I know. I can’t apologize enough for that. I’ll be more present in the future.”
“We understand better than anyone else the pressure of your position. You know your choir is more than up to the task of running the facility for a time in your stead–”
A sudden flash of red. “No! No. Thank you, but no. My priorities have been out of sorts recently, that’s all. Once the Kasuar’s inducted as staff, everything will return to standard operating procedure. I wanted it to go as smoothly as possible. I wanted it to be perfect.”
Silently, a red fingertip threaded itself through the commander’s hair and over her ear, fixing a few strands and putting them back in their proper place.
“Why would anything you put your mind to be anything less than perfect?”
There was a halo of yellow around the commander. She couldn’t hide it all, that swiftly growing smile. “You little flatterers. I walked into that.”
The Kolibri gave Falke a surprise; she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and pulled in close. The armor they both wore clanked together, but this was more than enough. “You know your choir is never far away, ma’am. We are here to assist you, however we can.”
The commander returned the gesture. Schwertleite felt herself fully encompassed in her superior’s gratitude as, for just a moment, she loosened the grip on her heart. A warmth that no amount of sunshine could compare to. Part of her wished she could bask in it. Another part of her wished her sisters would keep their jealousy in check. They were all a conduit for each other; what difference did it make if it was she who received the honor?
“Thank you, all of you.”
A rare smile on the Kolibri’s face. “It is the least we can do.”
After what felt like more than enough time, the two finally separated. The Kolibri took a step back, stood at attention, and saluted. “With your leave, ma’am.”
Falke slowly shifted herself to sit on the top deck, bringing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. Her chin nestled atop, and she returned to stargazing. “Granted.”
It was odd, being able to look down at Falke like this.“We take it you’ll stay up here a while longer?”
“It’s a beautiful night out. And it has been some time since I was able to relax like this. Please notify Adler that I’ll return below soon.”
A curt nod, and the Kolibri pivoted to one of the express elevators, flanking the cargo elevator. Just as she was about to reach the control console, a message was conveyed across the signal.
Good night, my little valkyries.
An event that happens once every turn of the solar system: every Kolibri in the facility, whether in bed, in the library, or on patrol, smiled in unison.
Good night, Brünnhilde.
The elevator doors closed slowly. Blue eyes kept their gaze on the command unit staring wistfully out into the sea and the night sky gracing it. Any other night, this would be a welcome sight.
But the choir’s worries weren’t eased.
Something isn’t right.
We agree. Something’s changed in her. But what?
And she’s hiding it, as well. When did we ever hide anything from each other?
This is the Commander; she wouldn’t do so without good reason.
She’s always harbored these doubts of her purpose, but it’s never been this bad.
It all started when those orders came in. She’s been neglecting her duties since then.
You’ve all witnessed how she spoke to and thought of that new unit, right?
Yes, Waltraute?
And you all saw that emotion bloom she tried to squirrel away when Schwertleite spoke up?
Walt, is this–
Maybe the Commander’s infatuated with her.
Ugh.
Eugh.
Aaaaauuuugh.
Egh.
You have got to stop reading those trashy novellas. Aren’t they contraband?
I’ll confiscate them from the library at the end of my shift.
Wait wait wait! You all heard what she said! She saw her future in that unit! A-and how she helped her!
The Commander was obviously stabilizing a unit that was spiraling. Did you not feel that combat-readiness? She was prepared to attack everyone.
Regardless. Our Commander, showing interest in a romantic partner, and that unit of all people? That’s a stretch even for you, Walt.
Guuuh, fine.
Everyone, we need to keep a close eye on our “guest”. Another aggressive episode like that must be stopped before it can start.
We agree, Schwertleite.
I’m still going to confiscate those books, by the way.
GUUUUHH–
The waves settled down as the wind slowed, transforming from angry brine to a soothing sanctuary. Each star in the sky twinkled as Falke looked from one to the other. Each star, glittering with promise and possibility. Minerals, gasses, metals, all for the Nation’s taking. If fortune favored them, habitable worlds.
She could be out there, leading the Nation’s effort in laying claim to the wider galaxy, or teaching the Empire who had the upper hand all of these years. And yet, she was here.
Below her, prisoners rested in their cells, having just finished their grueling work shifts only to wake the next day for their next. A handful had a chance to return to polite society. The rest had no hope.
The staff, the Replikas, were her responsibility, her charge. For as much as she tried to deny it, they had as little future as the same prisoners they monitor, interrogate, and beat. But, they at least had the option to apply for reassignment, as rare as the opportunity may be.
That opportunity was barred from Falke.
Everything she could know, could see, could be, is here.
This tin can in the sea was always going to be her greatest achievement.
This tin can in the sea was always going to be her grave.
Every day after the other, it’s reports, requisitions, inventory, discipline, training, welcoming new units when the ones they’re replacing have been decommissioned. She could delegate some of these tasks, but it would leave her with even less to keep her attention. The most exciting day is when the inmates attempt a revolt; it has been years since the last one happened. Her Replikas have gotten too good at their job.
Just when she thought her mind had been eroded into nothing, a message came. Orders from AEON: asset retrieval. Evidence confirmed the existence of a unit series thought lost since the war, the KASR prototype, was scattered across the surface of Vineta. Verrholdt was a candidate for the retrieval effort; old records showed that a selection of KASRs may have been instructed to converge here. With the orders came MNHRs and the equipment to fit them for underwater operations.
It started when she was given clearance to access the archived series file and attached service records. Falke lost count of how many times she had gone over the file; she read the service records of several units before sleeping for several nights.
It got worse when the Mynahs began unearthing stasis pods from the city depths at the bottom of the sea. She listened to their reports closely, not wanting to miss the instant they ran into anything promising.
It reached a fever pitch when one pod after another came up ruptured, without power, containing KASRs with compromised frames, or too far down for the Mynahs to feasibly reach. So much potential, lost.
Then, they found one with promise.
Pod integrity: intact.
Internal power: active.
Stasis systems: ongoing, a recent leak.
Frame integrity: confirmed operable.
Recoverable by Mynahs.
It’s nothing short of providence that brought KASR-000093 to Verrholdt. She was meant to be here. Falke had learned so much about her through her service record and the records of her sisters. Now, she had been gifted the knowledge of what she had been missing all this time.
The memory of the battlefield. No amount of reading could compare. No matter how many times she replayed it, it didn’t make her feel any less alive. She’d never felt her heart beat like that. She once doubted her biocomponents were capable of producing adrenaline.
But it was the KASR unit’s subjectivity in that memory that surprised her. The sense of duty, the tangible feeling of working towards a cause greater than herself, the knowledge that every atom of your being will be needed for what’s ahead, the satisfaction that comes with such effort, and most of all, pure and unshakeable clarity of purpose.
All of the answers she wanted were here. She should be ecstatic. But, it showed her a fear she’d buried deep within herself.
What happens when she’s no longer the cutting-edge prototype? Will she be left behind, forgotten? Will she be lucky enough to be retrieved? Will they even bother with retrieving her?
Maybe this unit could teach her the path forward.
And now, she was a member of her facility.
Her gaze darted down to the metal floor of the deck. Her focus went past it, down and down and down, through layers of metal and ceramic and cable and Ara-made tunneling until it came to rest upon her new guest, sitting on a bed and recounting stories to a starry-eyed Eule.
That will be me at her side, soon. I just have to be patient.
I have you now, KASR-000093, my wondrous Nothung.
No.
My beautiful Siegfried.